Rogues
by Invisible Wallflower
Summary: AU:50 years ago, the U.S. was vanquished by Maleficent and her forces. The president was assassinated, and Maleficent crowned herself Ruler of the remains. Anyone who defies her is captured by her Loyalists, and often tortured. Finnegan Whitman, one mere Rogue among many, is getting tired of her reign. Will he let her continue her tirade, or finally give her the fate she deserves?
1. Prologue

** So. I was supposed to post this Monday... Happy Monday, guys! **

_..._

_April 27th, 1955_

"Sir, we have to get out of here now!"

Walter Dixon hesitated at the secretary's words. As America's president, he had a duty to the citizens of his country. Wouldn't leaving the city be abandoning them? He couldn't leave; he had to help.

John, the secretary, sighed, and ran in the room. He grabbed Walter's wrist and began to yank the president along behind him. "Sir, now's not the time to be noble! If we get you out of here, we might have a chance yet! If you die, we're done for!"

Sirens began blaring outside of the large building, and the unmistakeable sound of a crackling fire could be heard from a mile away. The president cursed under his breath.

The secretary suddenly turned left, and if the man hadn't such a strong grip, the president surely would've broke free. The people of his town were in danger, and they needed him. However, as they made their way through the next hall, the president knew that if he didn't make it out, the rebel forces would win.

That couldn't happen.

The secretary was mumbling, bundles of incoherent nonsense slipping from his lips. The president knew that with the right amount of precision and force, he'd be able to break free. He only had to worry about when to do that.

A long stream of shots streamed in through the open window, coming from the ongoing fight only feet away. John jerked up, looking wildly at the source of the noise, and the president chose that moment to make his move. With a tiny flick of his wrist, he broke free, and twisted the secretary's arm behind him. He then swiftly kicked the man's backside, causing him to topple over onto his hands and knees.

He ran then, faster than he'd ever ran in his life. At the first turn, he went right, sprinting down the hallway that led outside.

There were many types of horrors that Walter had seen in his twenty-seven years of life. A woman and her child begging for money out on the pavement streets when he was a boy, and an sickly elderly man on death's doorstep were only minute compared to them.

But as he crashed through the big oak doors of the front entrance to the White House, he decided that nothing was as heart-stopping as the sight that lay before him.

The sky above him was scarlet from the sunset only minutes before; now it was pitch black from smoke. He could see nothing beyond inches away from his face. The air was so thick that it was difficult not to cough every few seconds.

He knew that the war had inclined tremendously, but not this bad.

All around him lay the corpses of dead soldiers, their eyes lifeless and cold. Blood was splattered on the ground, enough of it to make a stream down the cobblestone pavement. Shots rang through the air among the cries of wounded men.

His foot caught on something as he tried to step forward, and he fell hard. _That's strange_, he thought. _I don't remember the road being so bumpy-_

A strangled scream erupted from the back of his throat when he realized that he tripped over a man.

The man gasped, and so did Walter. He's still alive.

Walter crawled over to the man, who was clutching at an injury on his side almost desperately. "Oh, Lord." The president started to rip a section from his dress shirt.

The man coughed. "It's no use, sir, the bullet's in too deep."

The president froze. He was aware of that fact, but he was too stubborn to believe it. "Young man, I have to at least try."

A weak smile formed on the man's lips. "Thank you sir, but it's alright. I know my time on this planet is up, and I've fulfilled my duty."

"What is your name?"

Blood dribbled down the man's chin when he coughed once more. "George, sir."

"Well, George, I must say that America has been lucky to have you. I'm sorry that your life was taken away at such a cruel time, in such a horrible way."

The president almost couldn't say the words. To him, it was as if he were giving up; not even attempting to assist anymore. It hurt worse than any wound he could ascertain.

To make up for it, he decided that the least he could do was wait for the man to pass on. So, Walter waited, mumbling miscellaneous things to keep George occupied from his inevitable passing.

Eventually, Walter sensed that it was near his time. "Mr. President, sir, I'd just like to thank you for everything you've done. It was an honor to talk to you, and to serve our country."

"George, the honor's all mine. Thank you, for everything. May God be kind to your soul."

The man inhaled greatly, shuddered, and exhaled his last breath.

Walter sighed, and stood. A new voice emerged from behind him.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it? All this destruction, and the fact that the oh so powerful United States is _finally falling_."

Maleficent, the leader of the rival forces, stood before him. The purple battle uniform she was wearing was smeared with blood, and Walter knew she had done some killing of her own.

"Beautiful? Maleficent, you truly are insane." He took a small step in her direction. "The United States will never fall."

"Never? Never is an awfully big word, Mr. President."

"It may fall today, but it will return."

Maleficent's features twisted into a snarl. She raised the long, black staff in her hand and to Walter's great surprise, it began to glow. "Heed my words Walter Dixon. This country will never be the same again."

Walter smirked and took a step back. "Never's an awfully big word, Maleficent."

With a cry of anger, Maleficent raised the staff and a beam of pure white emerged from the end, shooting towards Walter.

He merely smiled.

Right before the spell hit him, the wall beside the duo caved, then broke apart, spraying dust and bricks everywhere. Maleficent was forced to turn away, in order to avoid getting hit by a brick.

When the dust cleared, the president was gone.

Maleficent only smirked, then pivoted around and walked away.

That day, the U.S fell to the enemy.


	2. Chapter 1: I Don't Know

_Chapter 1: I Don't Know_

_Present Day_

_March 27th, 2005_

It was a cool night. A calm summer breeze drifted through the area, gently brushing against anything outdoors.

Off in the distance stood the remnants of a building; a school, judging by the large, spacious rooms and the remains of desks hidden inside.

It appeared to have been destroyed only recently, for under the rubble of the building was still usable supplies.

A young man was crouched in some of the rubble near the wall. His sandy brown hair kept falling into his eyes, and he moved it away irritably with his left hand. The task seemed to annoy him in general, because when it flopped back into place instantly, he seemed to know that it would.

Clutched tightly in his right was a piece of paper, dated March seventeenth, 2005.

One week ago.

"What've you found, soldier?" said a voice off to the man's right. He glanced up, startled, only for his eyes to be met with his own commanding officer's.

She stood with one hand on her hip, the other dangling limply at her side. Her rich brown eyes stared curiously at him, a half smirk lightly playing onto her pink lips. She approached with tiny steps, and the man was forced to occupy his thoughts by turning back to the crumpled paper.

"A child's homework, ma'am," he replied, standing. He raised his hand into a salute when the woman came closer.

"I'll have none of those formalities, soldier," said the woman. "Other Officers may do it, but it makes me uncomfortable."

The man smiled, and the woman returned it humbly. She gestured to the paper, the childlike curiosity returning to her eyes. "When's it dated?"

"March seventeenth. This year."

The woman cursed. She dragged a hand up to her hair, momentarily forgetting the fact that the chocolate colored locks were held in a tight bun at the top of her head. "They're expanding."

"Expanding?" He was sure his expression revealed his thoughts; pure horror. "Are you sure, ma'am?"

"I wish it wasn't so, but yes."

"What are we going to do?"

She didn't respond for a long time, gravely looking out across the new barren land. When she finally answered, the words that came out were unexpected to the man. "I don't know."

"I'm sorry?"

She sighed greatly and turned away from him. "I don't know yet. We can't attack the forces, we'd be destroyed, and we don't even know their true location. We're at a dead end for now."

The man didn't know what to say. Typically, his commanding officer always knew what to do, so for her to be at a loss was downright scary.

The woman brought him out of his thoughts. "We'll have to warn other clans." She appeared to be talking to herself. "If Maleficent truly is expanding, we need to know exactly what we're up against. Surely _she_ wouldn't be in the expansion party, she'll have sent some of her army. Maybe we do have a chance."

He knew she had a habit of doing this; thinking out loud. In previous meetings - he was one of the only soldiers allowed inside the meetings; all the rest were too loud or immature to sit long enough - he would often see her murmuring quietly to no one in particular while another Officer was speaking.

She finally snapped out of it and pivoted back to him."Follow me."

Her steps were quick in the opposite direction. He jogged to catch up with her. "If I may, ma'am, where are we going?"

"Back to camp. I need to contact other Officers immediately."

He nodded. They walked in silence, heading in the direction of where the jeep they had came in was parked.

The man climbed into the black vehicle once they reached it, in the passenger's side. The woman followed suit, though in the driver's seat, and started it up. The engine rumbled, and then they were off.

She drove at breakneck speed, more than likely trying to escape the place before enemy troops arrived. It would not do the Resistance any good if they got captured. Too many already have.

Minutes later, they arrived at camp.

Surprisingly, the camp was empty. The rest of the jeeps - there were six at this camp - were absent, and the huge fire pit in the median of the camp was out. The tents lacked their usual troops, and the man figured that the rest of the rank was out scavenging like he and the officer had been.

The woman shut the jeep off. The man made a move to climb out, but the officer placed a hand on his wrist to stop him.

"Your name is Parker, is it not? Parker Sullen?" She asked him.

His breath caught in his throat, and his heart skipped a small beat. Her eyes were staring straight into his, brown upon blue, and he fought hard against the light blush creeping up his neck. "Yes'm."

"Well Parker, I have a feeling you and I will be meeting a lot more in the oncoming months. Are you ready for it?"

He smiled widely.

"Of course, Officer Angelo."

**...**

**Yeah, it's short.. Sorry about that. Next chapter will be longer, I promise!**

**The first Keeper comes in! Sadly though, Willa won't be coming back for a while longer.. And Parker.. Wasn't expecting that to happen!**

**Six reviews on the first chapter? You guys are awesome! Thanks for reviewing, and review for this one if you liked it! I'd love to know what you think of it so far! **


	3. Chapter 2: Two New Rogues

_Chapter Two: Two New Rogues_

Finnegan was positive he'd never been put through so much work in his life.

A box packed high with his things lay at his feet, and he kicked it angrily. He had been forced to move, again, after the Mayor of his previous hometown had accused him of stealing the neighbor's car.

He had done it, of course, but it was for a good reason. The judge didn't seem to understand that.

The only good thing about the move was that his best friend had come along with him. Finn had urged him not to come, but Dillard only shooed it off, insisting something along the lines of, "If you leave, I'll have no one to destroy Mrs. Rosen's hydrangeas with. Destroying hydrangeas by yourself isn't any fun."

Dillard was now lounging on the couch in the living room.

"Come on, man," Finn said to him. He had what was probably the heaviest box yet in his hands, and was struggling a bit. "Can't you help any?"

Dillard sat up, taking a swing from the bottle of root beer in his left hand. "I practically did all the work packing those boxes. It's your turn."

"You didn't pack any of them!"

"That, my friend, is where you're mistaken. That box you have in your hands right now is one I know I did."

Finn sighed. He knew Dillard wasn't going to be of any help. Instead, he made his way to the kitchen, and dropped the cardboard container on the nearest counter.

His stomach made a loud protest when he turned to leave the room. He hadn't ate since lunch yesterday, and it was starting to take a toll on him. "Dill," he called loudly to his friend. "You want some food? I'm making something for me."

Why he asked considering the fact that Dillard wouldn't get off his butt and help would be a mystery to him.

"Yeah! Sandwich, please!"

"Got it." Finn made his way over to the wooden cabinets and threw open the door, only to be met with an empty compartment.

"Dill! Didn't you go to the store yesterday?"

The sound of skin slapping against skin came through the kitchen. "I knew I forgot something."

"Dill!"

"Sorry!" Dillard cried as he burst through the swinging door. "You know not to trust me with remembering things!" To emphasize his point, he tossed up his hands.

Finn groaned and searched for his shoes. "Never mind, I'll go do it."

Dillard tossed him the cheap, battered shoes. They had multiple holes, and it was evident that he needed a new pair, yet they didn't have the money to buy them.

Dillard smiled sheepishly. "You need me to go with you? I mean, it's the least I could do, consid-"

"It's alright, Dill. I'll go by myself." Finn said, and smiled at his friend.

Dillard nodded. "Well, I guess I'll go unpack some boxes then."

* * *

The town Finnegan and Dillard had moved to was small. So small, it wasn't even listed on the map of this area. It only had one stoplight - a battered, rusty one that barely worked - right in the center of the town. All the buildings were fabricated around it to construct the town that stood today.

Most of the buildings were demolished by now, in fact, the only ones remaining fully intact was the grocery store - where Finnegan was now - and the jail.

Despite the fact that he'd only been in the town for a day, Finnegan had heard plenty of information about the prison from the citizens. The police of this town were strict, horribly so, that even the slightest suspicion of Roguish activity caused the perpetrators to go straight into a cell. No trial, not a single chance of slipping past and gaining freedom once more. More often than not, they were never seen again.

The townspeople swore that anyone who strolled past the jailhouse late at night could hear the tortured screams of the inhabitants. Finnegan didn't want to discover if that was true or not. He didn't need to go back to jail.

_Where is the stupid bread aisle_, Finnegan thought.

He turned left, into another aisle, and found it empty. At the end lay pack after pack of bread. _Finally_.

He reached out for one, and grabbed it. When he turned around, a man stood a few feet away, calmly scanning the packets of sweets before him. However, as Finnegan began to walk back up the aisle, the man's eyes followed him.

Finnegan instantly knew that the man wasn't looking for something to sooth a sweet tooth.

What would make people suspicious of him already? He hadn't stolen anything, unless you count one of Dillard's shirts when they were behind on laundry. And he hadn't broken any laws, as far as he knew.

So why was the man now following him?

He headed for the checkout. The man followed him at a distance, trying to seem inconspicuous.

The woman behind the counter smiled at him politely, though Finnegan could tell she was annoyed. He returned it, albeit sarcastically. She tossed his things into a bag and shoved it into his hands, along with his change. "Good day." She snarled, turning her gaze back to nails.

_Politeness obviously is a priority_, he thought bitterly.

He exited the store. A few feet away from the entrance he stopped, then stooped down low, facing his shoe. He searched for the man from the corner of his eye, and soon spotted him pretending to read a poster across the street.

He turned his head a bit to far, and met the eyes of the stranger.

_Time to go._

Finnegan straightened. He began to quickly walk in the vicinity of his red 70 Chevy Nova, but he could feel the presence of the man behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood, and he broadened his step slightly.

He risked a glance behind him. The man from inside the store wasn't alone now; two more had joined him. All three seemed equally muscular, and each was at least six feet tall. And they didn't look too happy.

Through his peripherals, Finnegan caught two more men, both flanked on his sides a good amount of distance away. There was a slight bulge in one of their pockets that the owner took great care in not moving.

Finnegan had a funny feeling he knew what it was.

He turned right, down an alley between two tall buildings, only to be met with a dead end.

The men were already at the alleyway's entrance when he turned around. They approached with slow, overly exaggerated steps, obviously trying to be menacing, but it only made Finnegan laugh.

"I wouldn't laugh if I were you," one snarled, revealing several broken and rotting teeth inside his mouth.

Finnegan remembered something his mother had told him once when he was younger; _If you give something intimidating a simple name, it makes it less scary. _Sure, he was five at the time, but it worked.

He decided to call this one Bob.

One of Bob's friends - _he'll be Jim - _ took a step closer. Finnegan took a step back. "Mistress told us to bring you in. So, we're bringin' you in."

Finnegan rolled his eyes. "What makes you think I'll come with you?"

The third one, Carl, pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at his heart. "We have our ways."

"I think I'm good."

A second later, Finnegan was pulled into a headlock, both of his arms trapped behind him and Bob's chunky arm around his throat. "Looks like we're gonna have to do this the hard way."

Finnegan couldn't help but notice the man's foul breath as it blew against the back of his neck. "Dude, do us all a favor and get a breath mint."

Bob growled and tightened his hold. Finnegan didn't flinch; he didn't want to give them the satisfaction. He grinned, murmuring, "Or not."

Bob began to trek up the alley, leading his comrades, dragging Finnegan all the while. Finnegan took notice of the off-balance steps, how Bob seemed to be a bit hesitant on his right side, using the brute strength of his left to compensate for it.

Bob's fellow thugs didn't pay attention as they walked; he's been captured, what's the point? One of them pulled out a walkie-talkie-esque gadget, placing it against his ear.

"Johnson? 'Ey, we got the Whitman kid, where we gotta take 'im? Nah, didn't even put up much of a fight, we-"

Finnegan kicked Bob's right knee harshly, hearing the tiny snap as the bones dislocated. Bob's grip on him loosened, and Finnegan drive his elbow into the man's side. Bob went down with a huge plop, clutching his knee and - quite comically - screaming like a girl.

Two more of the gorilla men approached him from opposite sides, and Finnegan merely stepped forward to avoid the attack. Just as he suspected, the duo was too boneheaded to stop themselves before they collided with each other. They too fell hard, much like Bob had.

These men were too idiotic to even come close to defeating him. He had way too much experience in fighting to compare.

A shot fired, coming so close to Finnegan's head he felt the breeze of it zip through the hair by his left ear. He ducked and charged Carl, who tried to shoot once more before he was tackled by Finnegan. The younger man wrestled for the gun, slamming it down into his assaulter's temple when it was achieved. Carl went limp, unconscious instantly.

Finnegan stood, wiping his sweaty hands against the fabric of his jeans. Jim, the last member remaining, was before him, a look of mild impression on his face.

"Nice job, kid. Most people in our entire clan can't even do that."

Finnegan wanted to scoff. He held it back, knowing that it wouldn't help the situation. "What do you want with me?"

Jim threw his head back and laughed. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "Truthfully, I don't know. She's the one that wanted you. Bring him to me alive, she says. If it were me, I'd have you killed in an instant. Don't need anymore kids around here."

It was moments like this that left Finnegan speechless. After all, what was one to say when he's told people want him dead? And who was this Mistress they kept referring to? Finnegan needed more information, and he intended to get it.

He lifted the gun in his hands and Jim held his hands up in surrender. On the underside of his black jacket was a design - an intricate mixture of purple and green swirls that Finnegan recognized as the symbol for Maleficent's Loyalists.

He took a step back, never once taking his eyes off Jim's face. The man was smirking, as if he knew what Finnegan was about to do. "You can run, I won't harm you, not today at least. But remember this; there's only so many hiding places in this world."

That was when Finnegan whirled around and sprinted in the alternate direction.

* * *

"And exactly why are you packing again?"

Finnegan stuffed another shirt into his backpack. He couldn't afford to pack everything, no, it would only hold him down. He needed to have the advantage of speedy traveling, and he had to pack lightly to do that.

"Because, Dill, I'm leaving."

Dillard's eyes widened, then he laughed. "Alright, who's car did you steal now?"

"Dill, I'm serious. I'm leaving."

Dillard didn't speak for the next few minutes, and soon left the room, leaving Finnegan alone to his thoughts. He suspected Dillard was mad at him, as his friend never returned to the room even after he had finished and made his way out towards the front door.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was Dillard waiting at the exit for him, a bag of his own slung over his shoulder.

"What," he stated as Finnegan joined him, "did you honestly think I was gonna let you leave by yourself?"

"You have to, Dill. You weren't there today." He opened the door and froze, not facing his friend. "You don't have people after you for doing absolutely nothing."

A hand made its way onto Finnegan's shoulder. He turned, eyes meeting Dillard's, a solemn look on his usually childlike features. "That's the reason I have to go. What kind of friend would I be if I just let you go out there to your possible death?"

Finnegan smiled, a real, ear-splitting grin that he hadn't used in a long time. "A pretty bad one, I'd say."

Dillard laughed and shoved him out the door. "Get on, don't want anyone else chasing us out. Next time it'll be the old cat lady across the street."

As they snuck their way through the shadows of their street, Finnegan couldn't help but wonder how they were going to make it. Their backpacks contained only things for survival - flashlights, blankets, some spare batteries and matches, and miscellaneous small items from the kitchen. The only clothes they had were the ones on their backs.

It would be difficult, extremely so. Finnegan and Dillard weren't exactly known for their skills outdoors. One thing was for certain, though: there were two new Rogues in the Resistance.

**...**

**Okay, so from now on I'm going to try to update this story every Monday, if I can. But when season starts, it's probably going to get a lot harder to do that, so bear with me. **


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